


you should know i won't call you after

by Donchushka



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Introspection, M/M, Sexuality Crisis, Way Too Much Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25357045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donchushka/pseuds/Donchushka
Summary: Dan keeps having one night stands and keeps coming back home to Phil.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 54





	you should know i won't call you after

**Author's Note:**

> This started as one thing and ended up as another. I haven't written in almost three years and it's so good to be back.
> 
> Title comes from 'Collide' by Shea Coulee.

“I’m leaving,” Dan calls, keys in hand, one foot already out of the door. When the response doesn’t come immediately, he stalls, pretends to check if the laces on his shoes are tied even though they have nothing but zips.

“Have fun!” Phil’s voice finally comes from the back of their flat, muffled by a few walls and probably a door. There’s no judgment in his voice, even though there probably should be. Dan heads outside.

The journey to self-acceptance is a long and bumpy road, with more downs than ups, but then again his whole life feels like a sine wave: having already started at its highest point, it has nowhere else to go but down. Dan jokes that he peaked at age five, which is the earliest that he can remember his life starting, and ever since then he’s been waiting for the curve to finally turn upwards, hoping that the thrill of the climb will overshadow the inevitable fall back down. For the sine wave to continue upwards it has to hit its lowest point first; Dan is not at rock bottom anymore, but this whole thing feels not very far away from it.

The guy is waiting downstairs for him, dressed in blue jeans and a white t-shirt so tight that it’s impossible for Dan not to follow the curve of his muscles with his eyes, lean lines disappearing below the belt. His long fingers drum against the wristband of his watch, and his eyes sparkle with the first hint of something primal when he sees Dan.

“Hey there.”

“Hello yourself,” Dan says and stands next to him. The first seconds are always a bit awkward, with his limbs feeling way too big for his body, the air way too hot, his tongue dry and useless in his mouth. But that only lasts for a beat, because the guy hungrily sweeps his eyes all over him.

“You sure I can’t just come up?”

“Sorry,” Dan says. He’s yet to figure out a way to make it sound like he’s actually sorry. “My roommate’s a bit of a prick.”

He also needs a way to make that sound like the truth.

“Okay.” The guy shrugs. Dan knows his name but doesn’t want to think about it just yet. “Luckily I moved out ages ago.”

***

The road to self-acceptance is a long and bumpy one, and Dan desperately wants it to just _not be_ anymore. That’s how he justifies it in his own head but to Phil, he says, “I just need to get a few things out of my system. And in my system, I guess.”

“Okay,” Phil says, all blue eyes and understanding, all ridiculous animal sweaters and acceptance. It shouldn’t make it harder, but for some reason, it does.

“Are you sure?” Dan asks, almost against his own will. He asks like he wants Phil to forbid him from doing anything, even though Phil would never do that. If anything, Phil saying _you shouldn’t do that_ would only make Dan want to do it more.

He asks anyway.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Phil says as if he really doesn’t understand. “You’re your own person, Dan. You can do whatever you want. As long as it’s, like, not illegal and stuff.”

Maybe Phil actually doesn’t understand. But that’s impossible. They’ve been friends for so long that their minds are operating at the same wavelength, perfectly tuned and synced; Dan can start a sentence and be sure that Phil will finish it.

“What about _you_?” Dan presses. He needs to be reassured once, twice, three times so he can later stand clear in front of his own conscience and say _well, I tried_. So he can say that he’s done everything to be stopped and still wasn’t, that’s why he went ahead with it. Even though he’s not sure he actually wants to be stopped. “What about you, Phil?”

Phil smiles. He’s really too calm for this.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you come back. I’d like a warning, though, if you decide to move out and leave me alone with Norman and this ridiculous rent.”

Dan opens his mouth to say something, something along the lines of _this is serious, why won’t you take it seriously, why is this your way of taking this seriously_ , but Phil doesn’t let him get there:

“I’m fine, Dan, really. And I’ll keep on being fine. You’re not a teenager and I’m not your mother, you don’t need to justify your life to me.”

Later, Dan stands in front of his consciousness and says, _well, I tried_. The conscience says, _yeah, and?_

Dan has no answer.

***

Phil loves him.

He’s said that a million times, his words leaving imprints on Dan’s skin, his lips burning marks on Dan’s brain. He still says it from time to time, casually, like this is what they normally do, like his heart doesn’t break into a thousand pieces every time he doesn’t hear Dan say it back.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Dan asks one day. Phil said it again, the words leaving his mouth free, unobstructed, flying out into the world, and floating in the air, waiting for Dan to catch them. It’s early in the morning, _too_ early for this, and Dan can’t keep watching them fall anymore. “Why do you keep saying it like it’s the most perfectly natural thing in the world?”

Phil smiles, all black hair and love, all coffee cups and patience.

“Because it is. Sky’s blue and all that. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop.”

Phil always says what he’s feeling, what he’s thinking, sometimes even rushes to do so, resulting in ridiculous innuendos and harsh words, speaking from the heart first, analysing later. Innuendos dissipate in the air, mixing with particles of laughter, and harsh words hang like thunderclouds until Phil collects them and comes to apologise. He always starts with _I shouldn’t have said it like that_ , finds a way to soften the edges, to lessen the blow, even though the meaning essentially remains the same. He always ends with _that’s how I feel, I’ll let you know if that changes_.

Dan imagines Phil walking up to him in the kitchen, glasses askew, hair a mess, _good morning, we’re out of cereal, by the way I don’t love you anymore_. He selfishly wishes that this day never comes.

“I’m worried about you, Phil,” he says instead of saying _I never want you to stop saying it, please never stop, I swear I’ll figure myself out and come back to you, you just never stop_.

Phil’s smile remains, warm and patient.

“And I’m worried about you. We make a great team.” Dan hears, _I won’t_.

***

Phil loves him, and Dan’s feelings towards Phil are far too large and complicated to be put into such a clearly defined box.

Phil’s always been better about labels, looked at them in a different way, seeing them as guiding stars instead of misleading signs. He chose a word that suited him and wore it proudly, a tiny rainbow pin on the collar of his jacket, forever having an answer for anyone who asked, anyone who wanted to know. Dan’s tried on a fair share of labels throughout his life, designer and all, and still, whenever anyone asks him a question, he gives an essay instead of an answer.

The road to self-acceptance is long and bumpy, and he unlocks his phone, hoping it’ll be cut short by men that want him in a way different from how Phil wants him.

***

Dan never stays. Some of them ask, sending hopeful glances through long eyelashes, empty space on their bed warm and inviting, some don’t, stretching and yawning, waving their hands in the vague direction of the door. Dan says _I’m good_ regardless, gently letting down those who still want him, saying a meaningless goodbye to those who no longer do, doesn’t check his zips at the door, and comes home to Phil.

“Can I give you my number?” the guy asks. He’s good-looking and in the satisfied afterglow he looks even better, pink cheeks and messy hair, making Dan think with slight wonder, _I did that, I caused all of that_. He remembers the guy’s name but doesn’t want to think about it right now.

“You can,” he says, “but I’m not going to call you.”

“Are you sure? What if your roommate starts being a prick again?”

Dan thinks about Phil, who suggested this in the first place when Dan said, _I don’t want to bring them home_. He thinks about Phil who scratched his chin thoughtfully and offered to be the bad guy, which almost made Dan laugh because there’s no one in the world better than Phil. _Just tell them I’m an asshole or something. Or super homophobic. No one wants a hookup with consequences._

“I’m not going to call you,” Dan repeats. The guy rolls his eyes.

“Whatever. Your loss, mate.”

On his way home Dan thinks, _is it?_

***

It’s not a bad idea. Even if it was, it still wouldn’t make even the top ten of worst decisions in Dan’s life. When it first comes to him, he’s scared; when it first comes to fruition, he’s not.

His head clears, thoughts no longer circling him like vultures, his heart doesn’t feel heavy with decisions he should have made or feels like he should have made. Briefly, Dan wonders if that’s what Phil feels like all the time, his mind free of guilt, shame, and fear, riding life upwards on the sine wave instead of stalling at the bottom. Phil creates a mess everywhere he goes, he’s a tornado shaking up Dan’s life, leaving colorful socks and houseplants in its wake, yet his mind is as tidy as Dan can never get his room to be.

“Different people need different things,” Phil tells him over tea. They aren’t starting a new conversation, they’re continuing an old one. “You need meaningless sex. Nothing’s wrong with that.”

“I know,” Dan says, staring at his mug, because there isn’t. “It just feels a little…” he waves his fingers as if trying to catch something floating in the air, but when he does, he immediately lets it back out. “Weird.”

_It feels like I’m cheating on you._

“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Phil sees the same thing as he does, their minds still tuning in to the same frequency. “Does it help?”

_Does it?_ Dan feels so much, pressed into unfamiliar sheets, then returns to Phil and feels even more.

“It makes me think. Then it doesn't. And then does again.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Dan looks at the tea bag floating in his mug, looks up at Phil who’s waiting for him to answer, all pale hands and understanding, all emoji pajamas and acceptance.

“I hope so.”

***

Dan doesn’t have an epiphany, doesn’t have an _aha!_ moment, doesn’t feel a lightbulb turn on in his head. It’s still messy and dark in there, he’ll need way more light than that. He just returns to their flat, drops the keys in the bowl, and says, “I’m done.”

Phil appears in the hallway, all weird moles and love, all Adventure Time hoodie and patience.

“Oh. Was he that bad?”

Dan wants to laugh. He wants to say, _yes, they all were, every single one of them horrible because they’re not you._

“No,” he says instead, “I’m just done. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Oh,” Phil repeats. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

The easy answer would be _yes_ and kissing Phil into tomorrow, into next week, next year until it becomes true. Dan still has an essay to give, though, so he shrugs.

“Not really. Just realised that it’s kinda dumb to look for something you already have.”

***

The journey to self-acceptance is still a long and bumpy road, and Phil still loves him.

Dan still has complicated feelings that won’t fit in a box, but maybe - probably - _definitely_ \- he loves him too.


End file.
